


People Will Say We're In Love

by Damned_Writers



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, But Eggsy also gets turned on at the weirdest times, Chester King is also a bit there, Emotional Manipulation, Everything's a sexual or a cannibal innuendo, Hannibal!AU, Harry is Hannibal, Harry is not good for Eggsy, M/M, Merlin's there but I'm considering making this longer at some point, Minor Character Death, because for some reason I neglected him a bit in this, in which case he'll definitely be more there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 16:56:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4632960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damned_Writers/pseuds/Damned_Writers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy receives a new partner, who is both incredibly attractive and incredibly charming. Too bad he's also the serial killer he's hunting down.</p><p>For the Kingsman Secret Santa.</p><p>Prompt: I absolutely adore Hannibal and I'd love to see a Hannibal AU/setting. Harry as the Hannibal type, Eggsy as Will or Clarice or whatever. Honestly up to you, I just want suave cannibal Harry tbh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	People Will Say We're In Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Galahard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galahard/gifts).



> Couldn’t decide on Clarice or Will so I shamelessly chose both (shhh the show does the same thing) and laced it with a couple of quotes from Red Dragon, Silence of the Lambs, and the TV-series. A few Kingsman tidbits as well, obviously.  
> (okay but I don’t own any of this obviously and there’s a more thorough breakdown at the end of what’s definitely not mine. Like the characters).
> 
> Title is from Silence Of The Lambs

The corpse was familiar in the sense that it resembled the four others that had come before. Eggsy was quietly seething as he looked at it, ignoring the murmurs behind him. Roxy was on holiday and he felt very exposed without her, but he was determined to see this one through on his own, even if this wasn’t _technically_ his case, even if he had another one that was already occupying his attention.

He’d closed cases before, but never without her next to him, and he knew what they were saying about this one. That he’d inevitably fail, and that the first would only be solved once Roxy returned to take over.

Fuck them.

He was going to get as much work done as possible before his ersatz partner arrived, some agent who’d been out of the country for a few years and was being lumped with him. He was sure that he was going to despise him, already from the paperwork.

Mr Harry Hart. Not even a picture, just a short list of commendations, where he’d studied, and his name. Privileged bastard, just like the rest of them. Eggsy wondered what the man had done to piss off King enough that they were being partnered, but his careful inquiries about him had disclosed nothing.

Organs removed.

Livers this time.

“That is rank,” mumbled Eggsy to himself, going over the files that he had on-hand. None of the victims appeared to have anything in common apart from living in or around the greater London area. There didn’t even appear to be a pattern in terms of where they were killed. Not much of a thread to pull on.

“Mr Unwin,” said a voice from behind him and he turned to greet a middle-aged man wearing an immaculate suit and an unreadable expression.  

“Who’re you?” he said, knowing the answer. Well damn.

Mr Hart carried himself as though a coiled spring was running through his body, pulled so tightly that any action might set it off, explode into something violent. A natural predator. He made Eggsy want to go into self-defense mode, and appeared to know it, because his posture relaxed minimally into something slightly less threatening. There was still an iron rod up his backside, but for once Eggsy didn’t mind the pomposity all that much. It suited him. Everything about him screamed sophistication, from his well-groomed thick locks, to his polished shoes. He looked at Hart’s hands. They were huge, with long manicured fingers. He wondered what he could do with those hands, but pushed the thought aside. Instead he started thinking about his legs. Possibly a mile-long. Fuck.

“My name is Harry Hart. I’m your new partner.”

 _I was right_ , Eggsy mused. They were going to hate each other.

Mr Hart held out a hand for him to shake. He did, ignoring the warmth and the size of them, and feeling like the other was being achingly polite. It was annoying him already. He knew this niceness wouldn’t last.

“Mr Hart,” Eggsy said, cordially.

“Call me Harry.”

“Right. I’m Eggsy.” He said it pointedly, searching Harry’s face for any sign of mockery and finding none.

“Eggsy…” he smiled, a vague barely-twitch movement of the lips. Well, that was… an indeterminable reaction. “Do you mind if I take a look at the crime scene?”

“Be my guest.” Two could play at this game, whatever it was. He could be fucking polite if it suited him and so far, other than a strange uneasiness, Harry had given him no reason to behave otherwise.  

After a few minutes of Harry strolling around the agents with his hands folded behind his back, occasionally stopping as though seeing an aspect of the scene that especially intrigued him, and with Eggsy tailing awkwardly behind, he turned to the other again.

“What do you think?” he asked.

Eggsy raised an eyebrow. “I think you’re acting like we’re at an art exhibition. Bit weird.”

Harry almost smiled again. “Anything else about me?”

“Nah,” Eggsy shrugged. _You’re fucking fit. In the right place I’d let you flip me over in a heartbeat. This is not that place, this is a crimescene. I can see that man’s intestines. Gross._

Harry was watching him intently and Eggsy winked flirtatiously, because the gaze appeared to read his thoughts and it made him panic. Apparently it had the effect of catching Harry off-guard, because he dropped his eyes enough that Eggsy no longer felt as though his brain was being explored with a searchlight.

“What do you think?” Eggsy countered before Harry could say anything to unnerve him again.

Harry looked at the body. “They were angry, but… it was premeditated. Not personal. Controlled in their anger, determined, focused. They _might_ be overly hasty and impatient I’d venture, but all in all, a true professional when faced with any challenge.”

“Sounds like you’re into this guy, mate.”

Harry frowned. “I appreciate their methods. A certain fascination… I suppose one might call it a fancy… but isn’t that something we all share, working with these kinds of people? Provided, of course, it’s done by an artist and not a garden-variety obsessed misogynist who’s intimidated by women and can’t get it up... You’re saying you’re above placing value on the attractiveness of the act?”

Where to start with _that_ tumble of information? “You saying you find this attractive?”

Harry quirked another tiny almost-smile. “I’m saying I’m having a lot of fun working with you so far.”

Eggsy rolled his eyes. “You’re the first to say that. Well, Roxy, obviously. But otherwise…” he shrugged. Okay, not entirely fair to Percy and James and Merlin, but none of his life was Harry’s business.

“You’re not like the rest of them,” Harry said, nodding carelessly at the assembled agents and analysers. “You’re very… adaptable.”

“You what?”

“Curious, then. To me.”

Eggsy hadn’t heard these words to describe him before, but they fell uncomfortably close to names he’d been called in the past. He’d been waiting for Harry to drop the condescension ball and it had finally happened. “I’m a labrat, is what you’re saying. Thanks, I know that already. Take ‘em as scholarships to prove you’re equal opportunities and positive discrimination and all that shit, and see if you can’t get ‘em to play nice with the big boys who earned their way into posh educations by being rich, an’ if not, well, they didn’t fucking deserve to be anything but cannon fodder for snobs like you anyway.” He didn’t bother to take the bitter edge out of his voice. He glared at Harry. A challenge.

Harry didn’t seem perturbed by the accusations. They were hardly a lie after all, he was rich, he was privileged. Instead he took a step closer, into his personal sphere. It was disturbingly intimate. Eggsy didn’t back down.

“You didn’t shed your natural dialect. You can, you taught yourself how, but you’re not interested in play-acting for fools who think themselves gentlemen.”

He shrugged, hiding his racing mind behind indifference that Harry had known about that. “Dialect ain’t gonna stop ‘em calling you pleb once you tell them about the council estate your mum raised you in.”

Harry smiled wider. “Adaptable, but not a sycophant.”

Eggsy squinted suspiciously at him. “This a test, bruv?”

“No, I thought we were just socialising. Like adults. God forbid we become friends.” He said it with a playful tone, grating at Eggsy again.

Eggsy snorted. “Snobs ain’t that interesting to me. You especially.”

“There are exceptions to the snobs, as you might come to find.” Harry looked at him, considering. “Come to dinner,” he finally said.

Eggsy paused, unable to answer for a few seconds.

“This how you treat all your partners?” His voice was coy, but he felt as though Harry could stare straight through his ribs and into his nervously fluttering heartbeat below.

“Only the interesting ones,” he smiled lightly.

“Jesus Christ Harry, you’re fucking infuriating.” He sounded annoyed, but he was sure that the tiniest glance underneath the surface would reveal his strangely frayed and lit-up like Christmas light nerves.

“I could say the same about you.” Something glittered in his eyes at Eggsy’s outburst, but it disappeared fast enough that Eggsy convinced himself that he was being delusional. And yet… he made the decision to be more careful in his choice of words in future. In future – he decided – he’d make sure to push Harry to the edge on purpose, to see what he’d find there. Apparently dinner, so far.

“Now I believe we have a corpse to look at.” Harry finally stepped away from him and the world snapped back into focus.

Right.

Serial killers.

He wondered what they did with the organs.

 

Eggsy noted later, on the drive home, that he hadn’t agreed to dinner yet. He wondered if Harry had taken his suggestiveness as a yes, and resolved not to give his consent unless he was asked directly again. Bloody presumptuous of the man to assume as much, he fumed.

He hoped he’d ask again.

 

\--------------------------

 

Harry didn’t mention dinner again for the next four weeks. In the end, Eggsy was forced to bring it up himself, and only because he was delirious on pain killers and trying to find an alternative to spouting never-ending gratitude at Harry having saved his life.

 

They had discovered the identity of the other of Eggsy’s killers, but the man had disappeared by the time they had arrived at his house. It had burned to the ground, although a small mercy had been rescuing a woman who’d been trapped in the flames. They’d presumed him dead as the woman had heard shots and they’d found a body.

At HQ, Eggsy had been passed around the office congratulatory rounds like a desperately polite and annoyed package and had felt relieved when Harry had deftly put an arm around his shoulder and led him outside.

He had breathed in and out for a few seconds, before expressing the wish to go home. Harry had wished him good luck, to which he had smiled and asked “for what?”

Harry had shrugged his shoulders minutely and looked at him, intense enough to make Eggsy want to fidget. Harry did need to be dramatic at all times, it seemed.

“Just the future,” he had said, and Eggsy had taken it as a compliment to his success, and the no-doubt higher pressure that was bound to be placed on him to catch the organ killer. He’d been named the ripper. Bloody unimaginative.

He’d read Roxy’s message that she was back and coming by for a celebratory drink the next day on his way home, where he had removed his weapon, his jacket, and his tie, and put on the kettle.

The knife had almost sliced through his shoulder-blades, except he’d seen it reflected out of the corner of his eye. He’d twisted around in time and it had only grazed his arm, but with it had come the massive form of the man they had thought dead, aiming not so much to punch him, as to smother him with his entire body. Eggsy had managed to slither from his approaching grasp and the man had crashed against his favourite cup instead, knife only just avoiding him.

By then Eggsy had already been halfway down the hallway and had locked himself in the bathroom with his phone, hitting speed-dial in his panic.

The number had been Harry’s.

He’d picked up after a few seconds, after the banging on the door had already started. Eggsy had been panicking, and strangely not because he was being attacked, but because this exact position had been strangely familiar to him, a glimpse into the past, hidden in locked rooms and covering his ears from the noise.

Except this time he'd had someone to call. Harry had heard his laboured breathing and immediately picked up on there being something wrong.

“Eggsy, what’s happened?”

In lieu of an answer there had been another tremendous bang that had caused him to back away into the shower. “Fuck!” he’d whimpered into the phone.

Without Harry’s voice he would have stayed there. His familiar, calming and – he had noted somewhere beyond his fear – on the verge of constantly sardonic voice, telling him to breathe, and to talk.

“Yeah, so I’m about to die,” he’d finally said. “Be grateful if you’d get someone over here with a gun, right now.”

Not a normal plead for help, but he’d taken what his brain had been willing to give.

“Stay there,” Harry had said.

Eggsy had laughed, or possibly sobbed, because he’d suddenly noticed a large gash in his side, and in this state he couldn’t possibly deduce how bad it had been.

“Yeah… Harry?” He’d been able to breathe again, at least.

“I’m on my way.” The line had gone dead.

Eggsy had listened to the lock rattling, to the thumps that were slowly breaking it apart, and thought _I meant the fucking police, not you._

He’d been about to call them when the door had sprung open and he’d been forced to counter attack with the nearest objects at hand. Towels, apparently.

The man had been bigger, and stronger, but Eggsy knew fighting, both the pretty learned kind and the ugly dirty “biting at your hand until you let go of the knife” kind.

He’d stabbed the man in the abdomen before tearing down the hall and back to the kitchen to find his gun holster miraculously gone unnoticed. As the man had staggered into the kitchen, eyes angry enough to remind Eggsy of all the times he’d been beaten when he was younger, he’d pointed it at him. The man had stopped.

Thank god he’d stopped, because Eggsy hadn’t any bullets.

“Don’t move,” he’d said, voice now clear and calm as an icy lake, the swirling waters of his fear a few cracks from surfacing. The man had growled. The knife had still been embedded in him, and Eggsy had hoped that he was feeling a lot worse than he himself was. As it was, the wound in his own side had started to build up in a painful momentum and had been making him faintly light-headed. He’d held off on paying attention to it so far, but it had made itself known with an unwelcome thudding sensation.

Then the man, without any sense of self-preservation, had lunged at him again.

He’d managed to slam his gun into his teeth, filling his attacker’s mouth with blood, but then he’d been punched to the floor and reduced to crawling dizzily away and kicking desperately at where the man had reached for his legs and pulled him backwards and onto his back. Arms had wrapped around his throat and he’d expected himself to give up the fight, but had instead managed to shove his knee against the hilt of the knife to no avail other than a brief reprieve as the man had let go to punch him again, scratching at his face with long fingernails.

Somewhere in the periphery of his vision, JB had been barking and he’d had the thought that he was glad that the dog was alive and he’d need to walk him in the morning.

Then the man had been hit with three bullets in the back and slumped against him, successfully crushing the rest of Eggsy’s air supply before being pulled viciously back and thrown to the floor.

Eggsy had gotten on his knees, with a pair of smallish, careful fingers holding on to his shoulders, and gagged and coughed his way back to life.

 

Ten minutes later he was on his way to hospital for treatment and probably sympathetic visits from people he hated. Roxy was following in a car behind, Harry with her.

Eggsy learned later that she had arrived at HQ a short while after Eggsy had left, meaning to catch him. Harry had brought her as back-up.

Eggsy could only be thankful that his friends were also law enforcement.

 

\-----------------------------------

 

He received a lot of get-well cards, as well as jokes about unwanted houseguests that weren’t funny, Roxy smuggled in some chocolate and assured him that she was taking JB until he was better.

And then Harry came by, with flowers.

Eggsy had no response to that. “Never got flowers before. Not really a… thing… where I’m from.”

Harry put them next to the bed and sat down.

“I can’t help but feel a little responsible for what happened,” he said, sounding uncharacteristically demure.

Eggsy snorted. “Didn’t exactly send him to kill me. You actually sorta saved my life, so… it’s fine.”

Harry almost smiled. “I suppose you have quite a lovely scar now.”

“Wanna see?” Eggsy surprised himself, but it was out there now and he found that he didn’t mind. In fact, he really wanted him to see, partly to show him that it wasn't that bad, and partly to show off that it was that bad. Mostly to see what Harry's reaction would be.

Harry nodded and he lifted up his hospital gown to reveal the stitching.

“Can I?” asked Harry, lifting his hand.

“… Sure.”

He touched it with a hastiness that betrayed that he might have been wanting to do it before he’d even arrived at the hospital. Eggsy had to bite down on his lip not to shudder. It was oddly tender, the way he stroked, flicking his fingers across the edges and over the swollen sutures, like he was admiring the handiwork.

“It ain’t big,” said Eggsy, as though he was apologising for not getting stabbed properly.

“It’s meticulous stitching.” His hand moved up to one of the older scars. “What’s this from?”

“Fell off a wall.”

“Really?”

“Well, got pushed. Weren’t as bad as it looked.”

“And this?”

“Uhm… got stabbed actually. Pocket knife. Accident, sorta.”

Harry continued his exploration, probing one finger at a time, just skimming the edges, as though what was happening was still too innocent for him to ask for more access. Eggsy tried not push up against him, wanting to feel more, but he thought he might have been too eager, because suddenly Harry withdrew his fingers completely. Eggsy only just stopped himself from complaining. They were in a strange enough situation already without him admitting he might have just been turned on by the way Harry touched him while he was in a hospital bed recovering from a murder-attempt.

And yet...

He'd done it slowly and with great dedication, as though he'd known exactly what the stimulation was doing. He’d felt as though Harry might do everything with that great attention to detail. And with the same hidden impatience.

Eggsy lowered the shirt again.

“In case you’d like to ask me to dinner again, I do have an excellent wine suggestion for what you should bring,” Harry said. “But I’m thinking we had better wait until you’re out of the hospital.”

 

Two days after, Eggsy went back home and at the sight of the broken bathroom door discovered that he now had new things to have nightmares about.

 

\------------------------------ 

 

The food was probably going to be delicious, and Eggsy was at a loss as to how to explain that he was dying to taste the red fruits, the unidentifiable meat, even the greens… whatever they were… there were flowers, although he suspected they weren’t for eating. He didn’t know. He’d watch Harry.

It was all artfully placed on his plate, with the fruits decorating the meat in the middle, while green leaves and flowers sprang from it like a carnation. Here and there the fruits had escaped the middle of the plate and added red to the otherwise white flowers. It gave him the impression of either looking at a Christmas Cornucopia or as though somebody’s brains were spread across his plate on a bushel of some kind of meat-bush. But that was probably the wrong kind of thing to say as well.

“What is it?” he asked instead.

“It’s tenderloin with cherry vinaigrette.”

“Don’t look much like a pig.”

Harry sighed, the long suffering sigh of someone who would usually be a lot sterner towards the sort of person who’d utter such a demeaning sentence about his food, but who was far too fond of the speaker to do anything but sigh. Often.

“No, Eggsy. But I can assure you, it was. You’ll have to take my word for it, won’t you.”

Eggsy fidgeted. “Looks tasty, I mean… better’n the Mac and such. Is what I’m used to.”

Harry refrained from wincing. “It’s better, I promise. You may begin, if you want.”

He did, carefully hiding his eagerness, and feeling incredibly judged. Eating habits, sitting straight, using the right cutlery – he was just relieved that it was only Harry and he wasn’t surrounded by the dozens of people that Harry had told him he sometimes cooked for.

“I love an… enthusiastic participant,” he’d told him after Eggsy had asked him more about his cooking hobby and properly invited himself to Harry’s (third time lucky, as they hadn’t been at a crime scene, nor had Eggsy been on drugs). “If you want to try, I would enjoy having you.”

Eggsy had been trying since then to pick his metaphorical jaw off the ground at the idea that Harry might have been hitting on him.

He hadn’t been doing a particular good job of it.

“Jesus Christ Harry, this is… really fucking good,” he said, after popping a cherry between his teeth and gulping it down with the pork. Not the most elegant approval of his food, but at least he wasn’t talking with his mouth full. Usually he wouldn’t be so concerned, but here, in the company of an attractive man he liked very much, but who also had butterflies stapled to his bathroom walls and who hadn’t taken a single bite himself, but was watching Eggsy with the kind of intensity he might call hungry… he was going to pay extra attention to his table manners.

Harry seemed to smile, although Eggsy couldn’t always tell. “Glad to see my deflowering you in the art of finer cooking is successful,” he said. His eyes glinted, as though something dramatic was about to happen. Then he picked up a knife and fork and began to eat, and for some reason Eggsy felt a lot calmer. Possibly because he was no longer subject to the weirdness of being observed while swallowing.

He grinned. “S’pose I’m finally getting why some people say food’s better than sex,” he said, and Harry paused for a moment. Less than a second, and Eggsy wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been paying attention. But he was, and he was beginning to see what game Harry might be playing with him. If one assumed that Harry ever _played,_ rather than being deadly serious in all his pursuits. Was that what he was now? One of Harry’s pursuits?

The food _was_ glorious though. The taste and feel were equal parts sweet and sour and wet and hard. He moaned softly, although maybe that was more to see how much he could rile up the man opposite, and there it was again, a minute shift in Harry’s demeanour.

Harry looked at him. “Don’t worry. There’s dessert as well.”

“Well fuck me,” grinned Eggsy.

Apparently it was that easy. Harry’s smile widened almost imperceptibly as he continued to eat. “I never said, bloody well done last week. You were very brave.”

The smile faded from Eggsy’s face, although he knew that simply taking the compliment – as he had done when so many others had given it – would make the ordeal end far quicker. Not to mention he liked it very much when Harry complimented him. He was torn though, between enjoying himself now, and making him understand that he was wrong.

In the end he simply shook his head slightly, looking down at his food. “Nah…”

“You were,” insisted Harry. “When you called me, you were terrified. Yet you managed to almost beat him into submission and if it weren’t for your lack of bullets you would have killed him… you _would_ have killed him, wouldn’t you?”

The tone of voice caused Eggsy to glance up, meeting the surprisingly only mildly curious gaze that had accompanied that insistent air of questioning.

“Y – yeah,” stuttered Eggsy. “I guess. Never killed anyone before.”

“It’s fine, you don’t have to excuse yourself. You carry that thing for a reason, although I suspect that you never thought that that reason would turn up at home.” Suddenly he changed the conversation again. “You look as though you haven’t been sleeping. Is it because you feel like you shouldn’t have wanted him dead? You feel guilty?” Harry might have blinked a couple of times, but to Eggsy it felt as though he was sinking into those eyes.

“No,” he said, suddenly defensive. “I don’t fucking care that he’s dead, I just…“ he was going to _make_ him understand. “My stepdad. Used to beat me ‘round and after I moved and got involved in the agency I was out of that. Got him locked up and I stopped freaking out about it so much, seeing him or his mates every time I turned a corner, or when I went into my room. Even after he got out again, he avoided me. And then this psycho breaks in and you’re suddenly reminded that your weapons and your training and your new safe place don’t mean shit. It ain’t gonna change that someone’s gonna have the chance to make you feel useless all over again.”

“I see,” said Harry. “I understand what you mean.”

Eggsy didn’t say anything, but felt suddenly ridiculous and looked away. “Sure.”

“Eggsy.”

Again, it forced him to look up, gripping him like a hand on the back of his head, guiding his movements. “Yeah?”

“When I say I understand the feeling of being suddenly rendered powerless and worthless, I am not simply amusing myself by manipulating you. I am being truthful…” He added, a tad regretful: “I’m afraid I can’t guide you through this though.”

Eggsy wanted to ask, but didn’t. He simply took it as the moment of vulnerability that it seemed to be, and nodded. “Sorry, didn’t want to…” he waved an arm, vaguely.

“Quite alright. It’s not something I would share if I didn’t think it could help. You’re not alone in this, is what I’m trying to say. I’m with you.”

Eggsy nodded. “Thanks Harry.”

“You can come to me whenever you need something.” Harry’s voice was calming him down again. He’d understood. Of course Harry had understood. And he was going to be there for him.

Harry stood abruptly. “Help me clear these into the kitchen, and we’ll get dessert.”

Eggsy followed him, almost tip-toeing through the dining room, as though this place wasn’t built for the kind of loud brashness that usually seemed to accompany him. Harry took the plate from him, fingers skimming lightly across his wrist like a Jane Austen novel come to life.

“What’re we having?” asked Eggsy, resolutely not following the trail that Harry had left, but looking steadfastly at his face.

“Ice cream,” he said, while putting the plates away.

Eggsy snorted.

“What?” Harry frowned, not so much annoyed as a person who’d felt like they’d missed something crucial and didn’t much like it.

“Nothing, just… you make the most impressively mouth-watering piece of fucking art, I was almost expecting something I couldn’t pronounce, but yeah… ice-cream’s good. Prefer that to… I don’t know tiramisu or whatever.”

Harry’s face softened and turned into something that might be read as amused. “If it helps your opinion of me, it’s homemade.”

 

At the table, Eggsy’s eyes fluttered shut in a way that looked almost ecstatic. “Fuck. Me,” he murmured.

He looked at Harry, who was watching him suck on the spoon like a zealous devotee watched their gods, or a god watched their followers.

“I’m glad you like it,” he smiled.

His fingers skimmed over the edge of his bowl like a pianoplayer testing the keys. Eggsy’s eyes followed them, then snapped back up. The spark in Harry’s eyes from when he had touched him at the hospital, or watched him eat the pork, had returned. Something was happening, Eggsy was sure of it, but he couldn’t tell what.

He nodded. “Yeah, I’m done with the regular stuff. I’m coming back here to live. Sorry guv, don’t make the rules.”

“No, the ice cream does apparently.”

The enigmatic look behind his eyes was teasing Eggsy, who was trying to figure out where this was going. Harry hadn’t asked him a single time for anything other than dinner. As though the goal of their entire relationship had been to get him to this point and now he was simply waiting for Eggsy to decide what would happen next. Except Eggsy wasn’t going to do anything until he knew for sure what Harry was doing with him.

Until then, he would be gratified by the soothing slide of Harry’s eyes mapping his movements, by the harsh and vaguely uncomfortable lurching warmth in his stomach, and by his near-future plans to slake his thirst by wanking as soon as he got home.

He wondered if Harry could read his mind. If that inscrutable smile had anything to do with imagining Eggsy splayed and fumbling, squeezing against the heat of his palm. For a brief moment Eggsy saw Harry there and wondered exactly what his hands would feel like, or fuck, his _mouth._ He watched as Harry turned his attention to his own dessert, lapping up every minute action. His tongue licking at the top of the spoon, to the spread of his lips as he pressed the rim against them, to the trail of delight that started in his eyes and ended somewhere in his fingers, after he put down the spoon again and drummed them lightly against the table. Then Harry seemed to notice him for the first time. Eggsy abruptly tore himself into the now.

Whatever image he had just had of Harry beneath his suit, he was content with the picture as it was now, smooth and charming, and appetizing as fuck.

 

Harry stood with him at the door, waiting as he slipped on his coat and shoes. His nice ones, for once. He’d told himself that he hadn’t been making an effort for Harry specifically. They were very nice shoes.

He stood awkwardly, and tried not to roll on the balls of his feet. “I liked this,” he said, going for honesty. Some of the truth anyway, at least.

“We can do it again, sometime.” It sounded less like an invitation and more like a promise. Or a given.

“Yeah, I’d like that. Barely wanna go home in the first place.” He bit his lip on the last sentence.

Harry looked searchingly at him. “You can stay here for the night, if you want?”

Eggsy responded with a small smirk, all his defences rocketing to a maximum. “Sorry, bruv. No sex on the first date. Besides, I’ve gotta walk the dog in the morning.” The joke faded with the physical brutality of Harry’s presence, whom, he suddenly noticed, was much closer than he’d realised.

Harry put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently, but with the feeling as though he was on the edge of something far more violent.

“Next time then,” he said, and let go. Then he opened the door to let him out. “Do call, if the memories are too deafening at night. It helps to have someone trustworthy to open up to.”

Eggsy nodded and tried to think of something reasonable to say. When everything failed, he simply smiled, said goodbye, and took the cab home.

He spent the night staring at his phone, willing himself to pick it up. He didn’t in the end, and fell asleep around sunrise.

 

\------------------------------

 

The rain was the kind of rain that made you so wet in the first few seconds that bothering with finding a metaphor for it seemed as pointless as carrying an umbrella.

It was quite a hassle to set up an area around the body, swinging desolately from the high branches of a tree. Eggsy left them to it, and started to look around to see if Harry had arrived yet.

He felt sick and miserable and drenched and the crime scene was a mess of people trying to stop the deluge from contaminating too much of the – no-doubt non-existent – evidence. If they had been unable to discover anything of value at any of the others, the likelihood of finding anything now was miniscule. Still, he had a job, there was another body, Harry was late.

His head was thumping and he used the chaos to allow himself to sit on a bench and run his hands over his face. Coming to work had been a struggle of lots of cups of coffee and pills. And his body was protesting as much, if not more, than when he’d first awoken.

Worse than yesterday, which had already been pretty bad. He refused to get sick! Even if all evidence pointed to the fact that he was past that marker already, he wasn’t going to listen to it unless he _actually_ fainted. Which, going by the gentle swaying of his vision, it wasn’t an unfair assumption to make that he was nearly there.

If he shut his eyes for a little bit, maybe the rain would soothe his head.

“Eggsy?”

He sprang up, and then he sat down again immediately afterwards. His vision had blacked for a second. “…Hey Harry,” he said, looking away from him.

Trust Harry to be the only person in the world capable of carrying an umbrella successfully in this downpour and getting to see him looking like a drowned rat by comparison.

“Do you want to get out of the rain?”

Eggsy considered his pride. He didn’t really have any of it left. “Yeah, alright,” he said, and got in underneath, careful not to touch him.

Harry immediately disregarded this by putting a hand to his forehead. “You’re hot,” he said, bluntly.

“Thanks, you too.” Harry’s hand was blissfully cool and he leaned into it.

“You have a fever,” he clarified. “I’m taking you home.”

“Harry, I don’t know if you noticed, but there’s someone strung up in a tree.”

“He’s not going to complain about your absence, as gratifying as it is to have you around,” he slung an arm around his waist and guided him away.

Despite the wish to protest, Harry’s arm felt good, and he stifled all thoughts of professionalism and what anybody looking their way might think, leaning more heavily against him. Harry walked him the entire way, ignoring the tube in favour of the less congested streets.

Eggsy barely noticed that Harry had rummaged in his pockets for the keys to his flat, or that he had helped him out of his wet clothes and dried him off, before rummaging through his things and finding something new for him to wear. His fever worsened, and he vomited twice with Harry running soothing hands over his back, before finally dropping into a lightheaded, fitful sleep that bordered on hallucinating.

 

Harry stayed next to him and took careful note of everything he said and did, in between the _no’s_ and the _stops._ There were interesting aspects to Eggsy nightmares, not least the times in which he mentioned Harry’s name, or whenever he swore that he wouldn’t do it again, but also whenever he grew angry enough to shout that he’d fucking kill whoever it was that was tormenting him.

Harry wondered whether Eggsy was seeing him as his saviour or his oppressor. Maybe both. Things to ask him about if the moment presented itself.

For now, however, Harry simply monitored him to make sure that he wasn’t going above 40 degrees. Dangerous, yes, but for somebody as strong as Eggsy, easily survivable. In any case, he was less interested in helping rush his recovery than to watch his reactions.

As with everything else about him, they were interesting.

If Harry had been more romantic, he’d have said he was in love. If he were more emotional, maybe he’d call himself obsessed. But for him, he preferred the word fascinated. And he was sure that once that fascination wore off, he wouldn’t have any qualms about eating the remarkable boy's heart. That was practically a declaration, for him.

Not before then. It would be a waste of his potential. Or whatever _their_ potential might end up as. Right now he mostly wanted to take care of him, especially after their first dinner. There was so much to scratch at here, he wanted to apply a surgical tool to Eggsy’s emotions and thoughts, sift through them and pin them to his wall where they could be cherished and admired, as the young man so clearly deserved.

Poor boy didn’t know how much he was worth.

Harry would show him.

 

The next day Eggsy’s fever broke and Harry made him eat.

“Silkie chicken in a broth, a black boned bird, prized in China for its medicinal values since the 7th century. Wolfberries, ginseng, ginger, red dates and star anise,” he declared, placing it on the bedside table.

”You made me chicken soup?” Eggsy half-mumbled, looking… not unimpressed. Possibly amused at his _necessary_ lengthy presentation. Harry sighed.

”Yes, Eggsy.”

He sat down beside him. He’d made some for himself as well.

”How are you?” Harry asked, sincerely.

”M’alright.” Eggsy tried and failed to not look embarrassed. ”Look, sorry about the…” he waved vaguely. ”Being here an’ probably keeping you up all night. Should’ve – Shit!” he suddenly exclaimed and sat up, wobbling slightly in a way that suggested that he was trying his hardest not to momentarily black out from the sudden movement. ”I didn’t call work, I’m really fucking late – ” he was halfway out of bed, when Harry stopped him with pleasant, but firm hands on his shoulders.

He pushed him back. ”I called. They know that you’re sick, and it’s Saturday. Also I walked your dog.”

Eggsy didn’t really let himself fall back against the pillow, so much as he didn’t have the strength to fight against him.

Harry’s hands remained on him, his thumbs gently touching over his collarbones in the sort of absentminded motion that could be accidental. Eggsy hyperfocused on them, and allowed himself to relax fully under Harry’s care.

It was amazing how often he ended up vulnerable when Harry was there.

It was amazing how much he didn’t care.

”That soup?” suggested Harry. ”Before it gets cold.”

Eggsy nodded. ”Where’d you even get this?”

”I nipped out during the night when I saw that your pantry was empty. You don’t take very good care of yourself.” His disapproval set Eggsy’s teeth on edge.

”Been perfectly capable so far,” he said, before eating. ”Don’t need you doing all this stuff outta some weird pity.”

”I never do anything out of pity.”

”Then what am I?”

A specimen, beautiful, corruptible. “A friend.”

Eggsy didn’t say anything for a while, focusing on his soup. Finally Harry stood. “I don’t wish to impose on your privacy any longer.

“… Stay?” asked Eggsy, not believing that he would.

Harry stayed.

 

\---------------------------

 

A few weeks later, there was another murder. Or, at least, they found another body. It had been dead for a while, and it had been mutilated to the point that it made identification almost impossible. _Almost_ being Merlin’s find of a drivers’ licence in its stomach.

The discovery had led to Eggsy being removed from this particular case, as it was personal by way of knowing the victim.

“Who was it?” asked Harry, now in charge of the investigation and forced to have Eggsy undergo a brief interrogation.

“Just one of Dean’s guys. Knew him awhile back. He was an arsehole.” His hand almost skittered to his chest, where Harry knew his scars lay, hiding interesting stories. Harry noticed the motion, but Eggsy pretended that he hadn’t. “People should probably look into Dean for that one.”

Harry smiled. It was an unmistakeable smile, but colder than every one of his twitches and almosts. Eggsy took that as an encouragement that he wasn’t under suspicion, despite the now-public record that he’d once been involved in the kind of petty gang warfare of the same kind that had probably led to this man’s death. What he’d actually done back then hadn’t been half as interesting as some of the stories being told about him, but he wondered all the same who it was that had leaked the information to begin with. He somehow didn’t care. He had people on his side, a couple of the other agents, Merlin, Roxy, and Harry.

“I plan to,” Harry said.

 

\------------------------------

 

Harry invited him to another dinner at the scene of another crime, committed again by Eggsy’s current favourite organ, and miscellaneous bodyparts-remover. They had eaten together a few times now, a domestic ritual. This invitation felt almost like a full-close, what with the brutalised corpse decorating the setting behind them.

“Yeah, course,” said Eggsy, confused at why Harry seemed to be so uncharacteristically unsure about his answer.

“It’s a party,” Harry clarified. “I’m inviting a few of my closest friends.”

“Don’t have the clothes for those sorta friends, do I,” said Eggsy, this time in the sort of mocking voice he reserved for himself. “Or manners.”

“Nonsense. You’re a highly colourful piece needed to complete my set. Without you it wouldn’t be half as fun.” What Harry’s idea of fun was, Eggsy still wasn’t so sure after these few months they’d spent together. Was it collecting and pinning butterflies to his wall like a Bond villain, was it elaborate dinner parties, or murder victims? How Eggsy belonged to any of those groupings, he had no idea.

He smiled politely. “Nah, I’m good. Don’t wanna ruin whatever you think of me by crashing that crowd.”

Harry tried one last time. “I insist.”

Eggsy’s smile dropped. “I don’t have a fucking clue what weird experiment you’re running with me Harry. This ain’t My Fair Lady, I’m not magically gonna talk proper and I don’t need to become some fucking gentleman. I don’t need you as a mentor, I’m doing alright.”

Harry didn’t react for a few seconds. “I apologise,” he finally said. “It was rude of me to push.”

“Can you just help me catch this guy, please?” He seemed tired.

“I think I can help you see his face,” Harry answered, sounding as though he had made a decision.

 

\---------------------------

 

Harry Hart’s acquaintances hadn’t seen him for quite some time. There were talks of where he’d run off to in Italy and why he’d left in the first place, why he’d come back, what he was serving, and some interrogation of Chester King and Merlin, who were both attending as well. King gave nothing away, and eventually the conversation veered into the less unintentionally loaded territory of smalltalk. The only question that was answered by Harry was what had prompted this party in the first place.

“I do love having a lot of people for dinner.”

At some point Eggsy came in around the back and awkwardly waited for Harry in the kitchen while one of the waiters went to fetch him.

Harry entered five minutes later, just as Eggsy had made the decision to leave before he embarrassed himself. He forced a less uncomfortable expression on his face when he saw Harry approaching.

“Eggsy,” he said, looking him up and down. Eggsy wished he’d actually worn something vaguely less out of place, but his yellow hoodie and Adidas sneakers had seemed like a good idea at the time.

“I’m not here to stay,” he clarified, in case the clothes didn’t give it away. “I just wanted to…” he held up a bottle of wine. “Sorry for being a prick, yesterday.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “I hadn’t thought about it at all. But if it helps, you’re forgiven.” He took the bottle. “I can’t convince you at all, I suppose,” he said, voice light enough to be joking.

“Nah I’m… just gonna go. Pretty sure there’re a couple of people behind you waiting for me to steal a silver spoon or somethin’.” He could have been joking as well.

In response Harry placed the wine on the table behind him and then reached for Eggsy’s hand, caressing it briefly with his lips, before smiling. “One day I’m going to have to be allowed to show you off. It really doesn’t do that nobody sees you.” He dropped the hand again.

Eggsy looked at him. “Pubs,” he suddenly blurted. “If you… I mean, if I’ve gotta do shit like this every once in a while and fine, I promise I will, then you’ve gotta go down to the pub with me.”

Harry nodded. “I can secede to those demands.”

“Right. Well, I’ll let you know when I’ve got time,” he said, and then he left, speedily and with as much casualness as he could manage.

 

\----------------------------------

 

“You know I looked him up, right?”

Eggsy paused with the burger halfway to his mouth. “Bit rude, innit? You could’ve just asked him.”

Roxy raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Somehow I don’t think we’d get a straight answer.”

He waited for another five seconds, intensely fighting a silent lost battle, before he sighed and put down his food. “Fine. Tell me.”

“There’s not much officially. He left to Italy a few years ago, where he was working until a month before you two met, and he returned to England after the murder of his partner. Although…” she leaned forwards. “I _did_ poke about a bit with some of the older agents and it seems he left England in the first place to track down some guy who’d evaded him here. Somebody whose M.O. was very similar to your ripper. I’m just guessing but your current case might be a lot older than anyone’s been telling you and it’s why he requested to work with you in the first place.”

She didn’t say anymore, but Eggsy got the feeling he knew where this was going. “You think whoever it is killed his old partner.” He frowned. “Hold up, are you saying when I was attacked…”

Her expression told him that that was exactly what she was saying. “I think you need to be quite careful. Whether intentional or not, Harry’s put you in a lot of danger by not telling you these things, _particularly_ if the ripper sent a murderer to your house. He knows where you live. I don’t care how personal this case is to Harry, I care that you don’t get hurt. I think you should talk with him, you know, in case I’m completely wrong. In the meantime I can pump Merlin and Perce for information and you should probably also kill Mr. King for not giving you all the facts. Stuck up arsehole.”

Eggsy smiled for a second at her willingness to help, but then turned serious again. “Okay, but hold up. Nothing’s happened since. Like, nothing other than more murders an’ I’m alone plenty. Coulda just killed me whenever.”

She sat back again. “I don’t know. I don’t even know if I’m right, but it’s a hell of a coincidence that a man escaped just before your arrival at his house and turned up at your flat. And it’s another coincidence that somebody from your past turned up dead after you met Harry. Or that the murders started just before he began to work with you. He’s clearly not good for you if he’s obsessed enough to not warn you that you’re in danger.”

Eggsy thought back to their first meeting, Harry’s strange fixation on the murderer from the get-go. “Shit,” he murmured. “You couldn’t wait until I’d eaten.”

“Not hungry anymore?”

He looked at her and rolled his eyes fondly. “You can take it.”

She did, groaning exaggeratedly at the taste.

Eggsy smiled. “Harry’d kill me anyway, if he knew I ate that shit.”

“You two have a weird relationship. Everyone thinks you’re sleeping with each other.” She sounded casual, but was clearly anything but.

“Huh?” he said, pretending not to hear. “Sorry, was just thinking… Not sure what to say to him. ‘Hey Harry, did you know I have a stalker, you probably did and you should’ve said?’”

She made a face while chewing on his burger that read as “yeah, that’d work.”

He held her hand. “Thanks Rox. I mean it.”

She shrugged. No problem. Always willing to help you when I’m not sure if you’re in mortal danger or not, part of the friendship package.

Eggsy avoided Harry for the week.

 

\-------------------------

 

James and Percy were together long before Eggsy joined and were always surprisingly polite towards Eggsy. Maybe this was because Percy was Roxy’s uncle and he at least approved of Eggsy never hitting on her, something that most of the other agents, regardless of age, had been guilty of at some time or other, despite her openness about preferring women.

They had even invited Eggsy to dinner on occasion, which he accepted whenever he didn’t have food in his fridge – and later, whenever Harry wasn’t occupying his time. He was actually planning on spending the evening with all three of them, but had been stalling leaving work while he considered what to do about his Harry problem.

Therefore, when James sat himself beside him and asked what the matter was, he didn’t - as he usually would have - automatically assume that he was merely being polite and very much wanted to open up about all of it. It didn’t make explaining the situation to him any easier though. _Harry is sort of into me, but also never told me I might be the next target of a psychopathic nutjob,_ wasn’t going to get him the response that he actually wanted.

In the end he settled for “I’ve gotta talk to Harry about something. And it’s kind of freaking me out. And I’ve been avoiding him for a bit, so now he probably knows, cos he asked to see me.”

“Ah, right. You know it sounds like you’re pregnant when you phrase it like that.”

Eggsy huffed short laugh. “I’m not pregnant. Promise.”

James smiled. “Shame. I hoped you were about to announce that I’d be the godfather…” He paused for a second. “So it’s…?”

Eggsy opened his mouth. Shut it again. Thought. “Just… I don’t know a lot about him. And his past. I mean, back when we first started working together I knew even less, because King refused to give me his file, but I’ve been… thinking about some things.” Some vaguely articulated things that he wouldn’t specify.

James caught the hint and rolled his eyes. “Yes, well Chester King is an arse. A good decision-maker maybe, but god I dislike the man.”

“Just wish I knew why it’s all such a big fucking secret,” said Eggsy.

“Chester King and Harry Hart do know each other from way back. I suppose Harry could have asked him and he would have done it, if there’s no other reason.”

Eggsy looked at him. “Roxy’s been talking to you, hasn’t she?”

“Only because I worked with Harry briefly before he left. And yes, I remember the killings even if I was only just instated around then. Harry always was a bit of a “do-it-his-own-way” kind of man. Then again, his way did tend to work, I heard. Maybe that’s why this one is so personal to him…”

“What about Percy, he’s worked here longer than you?”

“Yes, and he prefers not to get involved in gossip or personal relationships with other agents. Or people in general. If I weren’t living with him, I’d think he was actually a cat-lady, but apparently he likes both cats and dogs... which sets a whole new standard for asocial and adorable…”

“Right…” Eggsy hesitated. “Isn’t it a bit… illegal. To withhold information that’s potentially dangerous to an agent? Or at least, I dunno, misconduct…” or did Chester King just relish the idea of him getting killed? Did Harry not care?

“Look, Chester thinks he’s bleeding King Arthur and we’re all his fucking knights,” laughed James, getting the point immediately again. “Don’t pay attention to what that wanker thinks about you. I don’t.”

“Right, Lancelot,” answered Eggsy.

James considered that one. “Not bad. Makes you… I don’t know, Galahad. The pure.”

Eggsy snorted. “Right… and Percy?”

“Obvious. Percival. Practically there already.”

Eggsy grinned wider. “Rox?”

“Ooh, that’s hard. I’d say Lancelot, but you already dubbed me. We’ll figure it out… I actually know shit all about the knights of the round table. I mean, Percy watches _Merlin_ , but I don’t really pay attention.”

“Yeah.” Eggsy smiled briefly, but then he looked at the floor again, fidgeting. “Gotta go to him anyway, soonish.”

James stood. “C’mon Galahad. I’ll come with you, we're heading that way anyway. Can go for a pint afterwards, before dinner.”

Eggsy stood. “Cheers Lancelot.”

They wandered down to Harry’s house together, companionably not talking about anything in particular, and James stayed in the kitchen, sipping a cup of tea, while Harry led him to his living room.

Harry offered Eggsy a seat, but he shook his head. “Not staying long, I just…” he fidgeted.

Harry waited.

“I know about your old partner,” Eggsy finally blurted out.

“Ah,” said Harry. “I suppose that was inevitable, in the end.”

“I just… needed to know why you didn’t bloody tell me.”

Harry shrugged. “It was my business.”

“It’s _my_ fucking business if I’ve got a fucking serial killer stalking me to my flat.” Eggsy suddenly realised what he had been trying to bottle up. He was pissed. “You even, god, you _asked_ me to stay here after I almost got killed, you fucking knew someone was watching me. And I fucking talked to you, about Dean, about most things, and…”

His phone started to ring. It was probably Roxy, asking what time he’d be there. He ignored it. Something was clicking in his brain. Something obvious.

Harry stood and walked towards him. “You handled yourself perfectly during that intrusion. And I very much enjoyed every moment of your company. As for my old partner… he wasn’t like you. He wasn’t interesting. Nor was he even a particularly good person. Child pornography is distasteful, particularly in a man I’m meant to trust with my life.” He looked very serious. “I would never hurt you, Eggsy.”

With Harry’s words, things very suddenly made sense. If he could just warn Roxy… “Yeah,” mumbled Eggsy, before reaching into his coat. “I’ve gotta take this call.”

When he looked up again, Harry stabbed him. For a second they were close enough that it looked as though the way that Eggsy held onto him for dear life was an attempt to pull Harry in for a kiss. He dropped the phone on the floor and gasped, curling his fingers around his neck to steady himself.

“Sh. Don’t move,” whispered Harry. “It’ll be quite painless.”

Then Harry let go of him and he slid to the floor, eyes shut and motionless.

 

¨There was a strange gurgling sound and Eggsy opened his eyes groggily, tired. The intense pain from moments ago had already lowered itself to a persistent ache that spread from around his abdomen to every piece of his body. His clothes were sodden with sweat and he felt tears running down his cheeks. Somewhere deep in the back of his mind he reminded himself that a lack of him being in agony was probably a bad thing, but he didn’t want it to come back and so he ignored the thought.

“Eggsy… Eggsy… you need to stay awake.” Harry’s face swam before him, looking vaguely concerned. He had lain his head on a pillow, and to Eggsy’s pain-addled mind he appeared like an angel for a second, turning up just in time to save him from… Until he remembered, and looked down. The knife was still inserted and he turned his head away fast, moments away from panic.

He tried to sit up, succeeding until his elbows and then feeling too exhausted to move any further. He obstinately refused to look back at where the blood slowly spooled around his shirt.

Harry moved back a little. He was resting on his haunches, watching him. Behind him James was trying to crawl towards the door. He was the source of the horrible perpetual wheezing, bubbling sound.

Eggsy tried to give him the time to escape, although he knew that Harry was toying with the both of them.

“Didn’t expect it to be you,” he managed. Speaking was still working, although he could sense the white blurs of unconsciousness in the edges of his eyes. Couldn’t let that happen. They’d both be dead.

“Why not?”

“I dunno. Not like…“ he breathed heavily… “you were subtle, thinking back. But… expected something to spring out at me, so I’d know you were a delusional fuck who ate people. Like if your name suddenly rhymed with cannibal and it’d all click into place that you’re ten busstops and a…” he groaned, the dull pain suddenly springing back to life with a sharp twang through his body… “charming, well-dressed cruise from sane.” He grinned – or perhaps it was more of a grimace.

Harry looked amused. “I’m hardly that stupid. You wanted me to advertise my proclivities more than I already did…?” He shrugged. “I thought I was being so obvious. But then again, I prefer others to know only what I want them to know, when I want it to be known.” He knelt in close, breathed in the scent of sweat just above his ear. “And I did so much of this only for you. Darling boy.”

Eggsy shuddered – and not entirely from distaste. Not at all.

The man on the floor coughed and slipped and stopped moving towards the door, although he was clearly still trying to inch forwards. Eggsy instinctively tried to move to help him, but was rewarded with another stab that caused him to whimper. Harry held him back with a soft hand stroking his neck. “Don’t move. You’ll make it worse…”

“No fucking shit,” he groaned. “Just get it over with, yeah?”

The exhaustion was too much and he fell back again.

Harry cocked his head, considering. “Promise not to move? I’ll make it quick.”

Eggsy nodded, not understanding, and Harry ran a fond hand over his cheek, catching the moisture between his fingers, before standing and walking to James. Fuck. That wasn’t what he’d wanted.

The moment his back was turned, Eggsy looked around for his phone. It wasn’t far. He started to edge towards it, keeping half an eye on the man stalking towards the fallen agent.

He almost blacked out again and bit back a sob. Time seemed to slow down and he had no idea how long it took him to reach the phone… His fingers were touching it…

Harry neatly picked it out of his grasp and he scrambled for a second at nothing, before Harry carefully put him back and started to rip open his shirt around the wound.

When Eggsy looked into his face, he seemed so disappointed. “You promised not to move,” he practically tutted. “It was very rude of you not to keep your promise.”

“James…?” slurred Eggsy, trying hard not to fall asleep.

“He’s alive,” answered Harry shortly. “Thanks to you, he’ll be alive for so much longer.”

Eggsy lay still and let Harry’s deft fingers work at the stab wound, applying pressure and wrapping a gauze around it – the knife suddenly lay next to his face, smooth and bloodied and he almost vomited, but Harry’s soothing voice and soft fingers grounded him.

He couldn’t stop shivering though and suddenly found himself apologising over and over.

“M sorry… not being a better patient...”

“It’s quite alright, my dear. I shouldn’t have been so impulsive before, it was my fault really. Just lie still. I’ve got you…”

Eggsy – inexplicably – felt absolutely safe, despite the pain and the cold.

“Harry,” he murmured. “Harry, I’m so sorry – “

He leaned forwards and gently kissed the side of Eggsy’s mouth, silencing him. “I’ll come back soon. We’ll sort out this mess.”

Eggsy slowly felt himself fall asleep, but continued to fight it. And then Harry was gone from his line of sight and he allowed himself to sink into an unsettled sleep.

He dreamt of swinging meathooks and of skinned faces applied to walls.

 

\-----------------------------

 

He woke up in the hospital, Roxy sprawled across a tiny, uncomfortable sofa next to his bed. He tried to speak, but it came out as a hoarse grunt. She opened her eyes blearily. “Morning,” she mumbled.

“Hey,” he managed.

Roxy sat up, wincing slightly. “These sofas are torture. They should put in extra beds for overnight visitors.”

“Is… James…?” God, he needed a glass of water.

She shook her head. “We haven’t been able to find him. Harry… Mr. Hart, he must have taken him.”

Eggsy shut his eyes. “Shit. Was my fault. Told me not to move…”

Roxy pulled a chair close to his bed and sat down, taking his hand. “It’s fine. We’ll find him.”

“When he wants you to.”

She stayed silent until he opened his eyes again. “Do you want me to fetch someone?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Not yet. Maybe something to drink...?

She fetched something and for a bit he simply drank and regained his voice.

Afterwards he still struggled to find the words. "What about… me?”

Roxy smiled. It was small, and strained, but it was there. “I’m taking over the case,” she said gently. “Until you’re better. I’ll keep you informed though, if you want? Off the record.”

Eggsy nodded. “S’better like that. Need a fucking break.”

She looked miserable, so he took her hand, gently. “Weren’t your fault. I shouldn’t’ve”… _I shouldn’t have brought James…_

“Remind me never to deduce that your boyfriends are the good guys again,” she said, trying to go for light, but still looking away from him.

“I have great taste, I know.” Then, more seriously. “Rox… take care, please. I don’t wanna…” lose you, he didn’t finish, trying not to imagine Harry’s old partner. “Pretty sure that Harry doesn’t want to kill me, least not now. But you’re personal to the both of us.”

“I’m a very careful person,” she assured him, and then they were okay again.

 

\-----------------------------

 

She came and visited every day until he was released, and then she drove him home. Home where Harry had sent a murderer, where Harry had saved his life, where Harry had watched over him when he was sick. He was going to have to sell it, except he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He’d be found soon enough anyway, and at least here he had the memories.

After Roxy had driven off, he went upstairs, locking the door behind him. He didn’t see it at first, but his instincts told him that something was wrong. He drew his gun, checking it for bullets, and entered the kitchen.

There was a body on the table, kitchen utensils perforating it like a voodoo doll, blood partially congested, and partially still dripping, chest and ribs opened. Its heart was cooked and neatly presented on a plate in offering.

Eggsy’s phone rang. He picked up. “My dear Eggsy. You must be healed by now… on the outside at least.”

“Harry?”

“I sent you this to help with the nightmares. Your stepfather was a most unpleasant man. I like to think I at least taught him a lesson in manners before his death, but I don’t have much hope in his case.”

“Harry, where are you?”

“I have no plans to call on you, Eggsy. The world’s a more interesting place with you in. I hope you’ll extend me the same courtesy.”

“You know I can’t promise that.”

“… How are your scars. Mine _was_ better than the others, wasn’t it? Are you grateful of this reminder of our past?”

Eggsy didn’t answer. His breathing was on the edge of frantic.

“I’ll think of you, until we meet again. Good luck.”

He tried again. Almost whispering. “Harry?”

Harry hung up.

Eggsy didn’t move for a long time, before he finally called the police.

Then he sank to the floor, underneath where the heart lay still simmering, and buried his face in his hands.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so the last scene has lines that are pretty much verbatim from the end of Silence + the mention of scars is very much inspired by Hannibal’s letter to Will in Red Dragon. The soup that Harry makes for Eggsy is the same that Hannibal makes for Will, and presented with the exact same words. Also there’s Eggsy’s initial distain towards the snobs, and some references to “pop the cherry” because of reasons. Hannibal sent Dolarhyde to kill Will, which is very heavily implied is who Eggsy’s would-be killer is.
> 
> I probably forgot some, I wrote this after and my brain is a mess, but suffice to say: Hannibal and Kingsman have some awesome lines in them.
> 
> Since I'd already read Galahard's cooking!AU, I can only say I'm glad I didn't need to figure out food. I know absolutely nothing about good culinary practices, but Hannibal supplied me with plenty (although the tenderloin cherry was 100% just to make a virgin joke. Trash = me).
> 
> Considering a part 2 for this tbh. Now that it's written. Feel like my ideas for a part 2 could definitely work, because I got waaay too many ideas for a part 2 while writing this. Let me know.
> 
> (btw I haven't watched season 3 of Hannibal, but I HAVE spoilt myself in terms of a certain conversation that happened between Will and Bedelier that happened last episode and holy shit am I stoked to get going).
> 
> Kudos/comments would be nice. Thanks for reading and have lovely day.


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